Squadron Leader
by I Am The Ox
Summary: The tale of the third and final formic war - told from the perspective of the drone pilots themselves, and one Squadron Leader Kane Mason...
1. Squadron Scramble!

Squadron Leader

_*Beep* *Beep* *Beep*_

The alarm echoed around the sleeping chamber, waking the three young occupants with a start. Squadron Leader Kane "Mace" Mason swung his legs off his bunk and yawned widely, stretching as he did so.

"C'mon, rise and shine." He addressed the other two, who were procrastinating over the alarm and still lying down. "Big day today."

Flight Sergeant Kwesi "Jacko" Frost reluctantly rolled off his bunk and stood. "I hope this new boss is all he's cracked up to be. I heard the Colonel reckons we're nearly outta time."

The third boy, Flight Sergeant Beta "Sammy" Samuelson, sat up and rubbed his eyes. "The Fleet must be nearly in Formic detection range, so we can't have much longer."

The three teenagers swiftly pulled on their Flight School jumpsuits and made for the door, joining the gaggle of similarly dressed personnel making their way to the canteens. The two Flight Sergeants turned left at a fork in the tunnel, heading off to eat breakfast with those of the same rank.

Kane arrived at the Officer's Mess and joined the queue, duly noting that the menu was the same as always – some form of reconstituted, rehydrated and otherwise repulsive concoction. They were several million miles from Earth, stuck on a godforsaken planet in what was undoubtedly a rather unpleasant corner of the universe.

"'Morning Mace." A voice spoke in the Squadron Leader's ear, jerking him away from his thoughts.

Kane turned and saw Captain Cray Chester standing behind him. "'Morning skipper. You slept well I trust?" He inquired.

Cray grinned. "Like the dead – pretty darn knackered after those manoeuvres yesterday."

Kane winced at the thought. It was fair to say their final day of simulation training hadn't gone exactly to plan. Still, today would be different – it had to be different. Real lives would be at stake from now on, a pressure incomparable to computer-generated holograms. Every decision made in the Command Room could bring doom to countless Formics, or just as easily cost thousands of frontline soldiers their lives. This was to be war at its most advanced – the third and final Formic conflict.

The queue slowly crawled towards the serving hatches, the anxiety playing on Kane's mind as he waited.

"You seen the menu?" Kane spoke for the sake of speaking.

"Hell yeah." Replied Cray, grimacing. He didn't seem nervous at all. "What I wouldn't give for a steamin' hot bowl of porridge."

Kane nodded, glad for the conversation. "Why stop there? What about a fry up, with bacon, and beans, and hash browns…"

"I bet even the Formics eat better than this." Cray murmured, his voice quieting as they came within earshot of the kitchen staff.

They finally reached the end of the queue and picked up their trays, sitting down at one of the many tables laid out in the Officer's Mess.

Kane poked at his food, wrinkling his nose as grey, stodgy lumps sloshed about his plate. He wasn't hungry – something Cray noticed.

"The sooner this new Commander gets here, the sooner we annihilate the buggers and the sooner we can go home. And home means good food." The Captain said consolingly.

"D'ya think the new boss will come down here to eat?" Kane wondered.

Cray shook his head. "I doubt it. I heard he doesn't need food, or water, or sleep! Not that I believe that of course." He added hastily. "He's only human, unless of course they trained a Formic specially for the job."

Kane was about to reply but was cut off by a loud yell, booming through the canteen. "Ten-hut!"

Everybody stood up to attention as one, turning towards a raised platform at one end of the hall, where Colonel Graff was standing. "At ease." He spoke.

"Pilots of the International Fleet." Said Graff, leaning on the dais. "Today your training ends and the real war begins. Today our finest Commander will take charge of you for the first time – the first battle of what will undoubtedly be a long and hard crusade, but one in which I have absolute faith in you to succeed. I trust my confidence is not misplaced?"

The occupants of the canteen snapped to attention and uttered in unison. "Sir, no sir!" Then they stood back at ease.

Colonel Graff nodded. "Now as you know, you have been divided into Battle Groups, each of which will be directed by a Group Captain, hand picked from Battle School – you will be introduced to your respective leader shortly. Remember your training, good luck and give 'em hell. Parade in the Briefing Room – ten minutes. Don't let us down."

"Ten-hut!" The voice bellowed again and once more everyone in the room stood to attention. Graff took one final glance around the room and strode out. Almost instantly, the occupants of the Officer's Mess sat down and the dull murmur of conversation resumed.

It was Kane who spoke first, shaking his head sadly. "I'm not so sure that confidence of his is in the right place."

Cray shrugged. "We'll soon find out. I reckon he's right, we got this."

"But the team ain't ready. You saw what happened yesterday, we were dead meat once those Formic carriers opened up…" Said Kane.

"Look Mace, that was with me in command – I'm a pilot, not a bloody Admiral. Trust me, with a proper Commander in charge, those carriers will be a piece o' cake." Replied Cray.

"I hope you're right skip." Said Kane.

"Ain't I always?" Said Cray cheerfully. "Now eat up, we've got a war to win.

**...**

**The Command Room**

Kane sat at his console in the Command Room, idly drumming his fingers on the VR headpiece lying in front of him. Sitting to his left, the two Flight Sergeants were talking quietly while Cray sat on his right, also beating out a rhythm on his helmet. They had been sitting there for over an hour and the air in the Command Room could have been cut with a knife, nervous tension weighing heavily upon each pilot's shoulders. They were the chosen ones; scarcely through puberty but expected to rid humanity of the Formic threat once and for all.

Kane stopped tapping his deactivated headpiece and turned to Cray. "He's late."

"He's a genius, what do you expect? Braincases ain't known for their punctuality." Cray replied, without taking his eyes off the platform in front of them. The room was in fact a massive cave, set deep into the mountains backing onto Command School. It was comprised of two curved banks of control consoles, flanking a large platform where the Commander and his aides were positioned. At least they would be, if they weren't late.

Kane glanced round at the two Flight Sergeants and gave them a reassuring smile, transmitting a confidence he didn't feel. They were both younger than the Squadron Leader, at only fourteen years of age. Even so, they were extremely capable drone pilots and had given Kane a run for his money on the combat simulator many times.

Simulator. Always on the simulator. And now they're expected to win a real-life war for the entire human race. Thought Kane, and was about to voice his thoughts to Cray when the doors behind the platform hissed open and five officers strode in – one female, the rest male. Kane recognised the smallest as Acting Group Captain Delphiki – although according to his nametag, he was just known as "Bean". They had spoken briefly at the parade just over an hour ago, and apparently Bean had been through Battle School with the Commander. The only other information Kane had been able to glean was the new boss's name, which was Wiggin.

_Commander Ender Wiggin._

"Ten-hut!" The command echoed around Command Room and the pilots stood up to attention, eying the newcomers as they did so. The doors hissed shut behind the officers and they took up position in a semicircle around the platform, facing whence they had just come.

A few moments later the doors opened again, and this time just two people entered: one boy and one man. Kane had never seen the man before – he would have remembered if he had, as his face bore strange markings, forming some kind of pattern. The Squadron Leader wondered if he was the new Commander, but dismissed the notion instantly. Too old. He thought and turned his attention to the boy instead.

His complexion was dark and his steely blue eyes swept the room, taking in the rows and rows of pilots standing tensely behind their consoles in one glance. The two stopped when they reached the semicircle of officers and it was the boy who spoke, his voice assertively carrying to the ears of every pilot in the room, instantly impressing his command.

"At ease." He said.

_Definitely the Commander._

As the pilots sat down at their consoles once more, the Commander exchanged words with his officers that Kane couldn't make out. A moment later the officers snapped to attention themselves and made their way to the five seats positioned on the platform. A moment later, every console in the room initialised in unison, VR helmets sparking into life.

Kane exchanged a thin smile with Cray. "Looks like this is it."

"Good hunting." Replied Cray and pulled on his headpiece. Kane took a deep breath and did the same.

**...**

**Virtual Reality**

The headpiece display was the same as in the simulator but of a much higher resolution, displaying the emptiness of space in far greater detail. In fact, this was not a computer-generated image at all, instead a computer-enhanced display comprised of real-time camera feeds augmented by the base's mainframe.

The Squadron Leader reached out with both hands and felt for the twin joysticks in front of him, grasping them firmly and rotating full circles to check for obstructions. Satisfied that all was well, he pressed a button beside the left joystick, bringing up his HUD. The green lines and numbers instantly appeared, overlaying and brightening the dark display. Kane experimentally turned his head from side to side and then up and down, testing his view indicator was working correctly; it was.

After a few more checks, Kane pressed another button, this time mounted on his right-hand joystick. The transmit icon popped up in his helmet and he spoke. "Mason here – request status report."

The radio crackled in his ear almost immediately. "Flight Sergeant Samuelson reporting all systems go."

A moment later the other Flight Sergeant reported in. "Frost here sir. All good to go."

"Copy that. Let's check out our ships." Said Kane, his hand moving over the controls on his console. His view changed and the display now showed a group of starships, each bearing the International Fleet emblem and apparently stationary. The Squadron Leader immediately recognised the craft as belonging to Battle Group Two, commanded by Bean and including No.27 Squadron – Kane's Squadron.

Kane zoomed in his display and picked out the ships directly related to BG-2: one carrier, transporting 150 drone fighters, thirty of which were under his command; one Juggernaut class cruiser, controlled by Captain Chester; and lastly three Dreadnought class battleships, each armed with high-yield cannons of which Bean himself was in charge.

"Better than CG ships, eh lads?" Kane remarked in awe.

"You bet boss!" Kwesi echoed.

"And we've got 'em all to ourselves!" Added Beta.

A moment later the fleet began to move, each ship moving in perfect unison, creating the illusion of the presence of one huge craft. A warning flashed at the top left of Kane's screen, accompanied by an audible beeping. 'WARNING: International Fleet entering Formic detection range. All crew to Battle Stations."' The alert read. Kane cancelled the warning with a deft flick of his left joystick – he didn't need reminding of the danger the Formics posed.

"Looks like this is it. Good luck everybody." Cray's voice grimly sounded in Kane's ears.

Almost before he had finished speaking, another alert message appeared in Kane's visor. '27 SQUADRON – DEPLOYMENT AUTHORISED' It said. Kane gazed at the words, for a millisecond unable to register what was actually happening – all his years of training, his entire life even, had been geared towards this moment. They were at war, there was to be no turning back now, no shirking of duties – the time was nigh. He steeled himself one final time, took a deep, calming breath and spoke.

"Squadron Scramble!"

"Yes sir!" The Flight Sergeants chorused, almost gleeful in their eagerness to get going. They were excited, excited at finally being given the chance to prove their worth in a real battle – they knew to leave the worrying to their superior. After all, that was his job, they were just there to fly space fighters!

Kane twisted both joysticks and watched as thirty RSF-7B 'Cyclone' drone fighters explosively detached themselves from the carrier and initiated their engine start sequences.

_Just like on the simulator. Pretend it's only a game. Just a game._

Status indicators illuminated on Kane's HUD one by one until each drone was represented by small symbol. He noted with satisfaction that they were all green, meaning the drones were combat ready.

"Sammy, you're B Flight leader – over to you." Said Kane, selecting ten drones and switching them over to Beta's control. The corresponding indicators disappeared from the Squadron Leader's screen.

"Copy that sir, assuming control." Beta replied.

"Jacko, you take C Flight – handing over now." Kane addressed his other Flight Sergeant and relinquished another ten fighters.

"Roger, I have control." Said Kwesi.

Kane closed his hand over the right joystick and powered up the fighters with his thumb. While the engines were spooling up he switched the view to a camera mounted on the cockpit of the lead drone and pressed a button marked 'Declare' – the latter's function was to notify the Group Captain of 27 Squadron's readiness to engage in combat.

"Ok lads, form up on my lead." Said Kane and maneuvered his fighters into a line astern configuration. He turned his head and the camera mounted on the drone also turned, allowing him to watch as Beta and Kwesi brought their fighters alongside Kane's.

A tone sounded in the Squadron Leader's ears, followed by an electronic voice. "Stand by for orders. Stand by for orders. Stand by for orders." There was a serene calmness about the computerised sound that was somehow irritating and Kane was glad when the promised orders finally scrolled across his display. '27 SQUADRON INSTRUCTION: Assigned to BG-2 formation; Combat Air Patrol; Sector 17; Grid 370B – 788K; Engage on sight.'

"Time to put the hammer down." Kane said quietly and flicked the throttle open with his thumb. His ten drones accelerated quickly away from the carrier group, B and C Flights following closely.

Sector 17 was not far from the International Fleet's position; in fact, it took around thirty seconds to reach at full throttle. The sector itself was bisected by a thin asteroid belt – this posed no obstacle to the nimble Cyclone fighters but would slow the larger ships down, hindering the fleet's progress by several days. This made the sector an important tactical objective and Kane assumed the fighters were being sent in advance to secure it.

As they neared the asteroids Kane noticed more and more fighters appearing until, by the time they entered the belt, every fighter in Battle Group Two had joined them, forming one huge formation.

More orders scrolled across Kane's visor, instructing him to form a parabolic formation with squadrons 20 to 30. He swiftly guided his drones into formation as instructed and watched as Beta and Kwesi did the same. Suddenly three radar-warning triangles appeared on his HUD, indicating the presence of three unidentified craft.

"Mace here – you getting those bogeys?" Kane broadcasted on the battle group wide channel, communicating directly with the other Squadron Leaders assigned to BG-2.

"Sure am." A voice confirmed amid general mutterings of agreement.

"Roger that, let's go get 'em." Replied Kane. He switched back to the 27 Squadron channel.

"Bogeys confirmed as hostile, stand by to engage. Safeties off boys." He said.

"Ready to engage boss!" Kane could hear the excitement in Kwesi's voice.

"Good to go sir!" Beta wasn't any less keyed up.

Kane returned to watching his screen intently, searching for any visual trace of the hostiles. There was nothing to be seen, nothing, nothing, nothing, then…

"I see them! There they are!" Kwesi yelled over the intercom, almost bursting his colleagues' eardrums. Sure enough, hovering just above a blanket of icy asteroids, were three Formic carriers.

"Copy that 'Flight!" Replied Kane before hastily switching to the Group intercom again.

"Fox three Bandits, one o' clock low! Three transports just above the ice!"

"I have the Bandits. Engaging when in range." Someone called out.

"Permission to attack sir?" Asked Beta, eager to prove he was just as useful as his opposite number.

"Negative Sammy…Hold fire until the very last second." Kane spoke in a half whisper as the formation roared ever closer to the blissfully unaware Formic carriers.

"Not yet… Not yet… Now! Open fire!" Kane yelled and simultaneously pulled the trigger on his joystick, unleashing a fiery hail of laser pulses from the cannons mounted on the wings of his drone fighters.

"Yee-haa!" Kwesi whooped over the intercom as pulses tore into the Formic ships, blasting away at the semi-deployed shields.

"Give 'em hell, the man said!" Beta chuckled.

Kane was not so happy; something about the situation didn't seem right to him, and it didn't take long to find out what. Large numbers of Formic fighter craft were appearing from underneath the carriers.

They're swarming… We walked straight into a trap! I knew we weren't ready, it's the same as on the simulators – we'll be cut to pieces!

Kane was about to yell a warning to the battle group when the ice beneath the carriers began to disintegrate. The words stuck in his throat as he watched three huge plasma beams burst through the frozen asteroids and pierced the bellies of the Formic ships, impaling the insect-like craft. A moment later they exploded into a million pieces, the swarming fighters plummeting lifelessly onto the ice bellow. Two words appeared on Kane's screen. 'MISSION COMPLETE'.

_Just like a game._

Kane absently pressed several buttons on his left joystick, sending the drones back to their transports and powering down his Virtual Reality helmet. As the HUD died he slipped the headset off, blinking as his eyes accustomed once again to the gloom of the Command Room.

**...**

**Command Room**

Kane stood up and exchanged wide-eyed stares with Beta and Kwesi, who had also removed their helmets. They were still slightly shell-shocked at the speed it had all unfolded and the decisiveness of the Formic ships' destruction. It was unlike anything they had ever seen before, even on the simulator. It was only really comparable to one thing: the video. Everyone had seen the video – it was the International Fleet's propaganda mainstay and what kept everyone together. But today, the actions of Commander Wiggin had been… Rackham-esque. Kane was fully convinced.

_He truly is our finest Commander._

There was only one thing to do, and this sentiment was echoed by every other drone pilot in the room. They stood and, as one, applauded Commander Ender Wiggin.


	2. Officers' Mess

The Officer's Mess hall was bouncing that night – the Flight Sergeants and lower ranks had been invited up to join the officers for the evening, and Senior Command had seen to it that a case of ancient soft drinks was left suggestively in the centre of the room, much to the delight of the younger pilots present. At the far end of the hall, a trio from the tech &amp; maintenance division had set up an impromptu stage on old packing cases and were attempting a performance that those who were slightly hard of hearing – or even completely deaf – might describe as vaguely musical in nature.

Midway down the hall, Cray, Kwesi, Beta and two other young Flight Sergeants were sitting at a small table, chatting amongst themselves and laughing as they reminisced over old times at Battle School. Kane sat a little apart from the group, absorbed in his own thoughts.

"…So then Tyro grabs his helmet, chucks it out the airlock and says 'And next time, don't forget to floss!'" One of Kwesi and Beta's friends - who's name was Joey - finished his story and the others erupted into fits of giggles, Cray laughing so hard that he somehow managed to bang his head on the table, causing even more hysterics among the youngsters.

Although pilots were hand picked for their outstanding performance during academy simulator tests while still on Earth, they were still required to attend Battle School like everyone else. However, instead of undergoing the more complex strategy training, pilot cadets were transferred to Flight School where they spent their days learning advanced combat manoeuvres, tactical formations likely to be employed and space navigation techniques. This was the point where ranks were determined; leadership and ability to manage a combat situation led to the command of a Squadron; anticipation of the enemy and strategic awareness were attributes looked for in a Space Captain; while other ranks were simply related to overall flying skill.

"That reminds me of a lad I used to know, back then." Said Cray once he'd got his breath back.

"Sven his name was – we had one hell of a laugh together. In the end the poor fella got iced for booby-trappin' the Duty Sergeant's bidet. The last thing he said before they came for him was that it was gonna be worth every freezin' cold second!" The Sergeants giggled.

"You remember Sven, Mace?" Cray asked.

There was no reply.

"C'mon, Mace? Wakey-wakey!" The Captain persisted.

Kane snapped out of his daydream.

"W-Who? Sven? Oh yeah, how could I forget 'ol bugger face." He replied gloomily.

Cray chuckled and whispered playfully to the others, just loud enough for Kane to hear. "You see lads, Private Mason here didn't get on too well with Sven 'Chomper' McBride."

"Damn right I didn't." Kane agreed. "That bastard almost bit my ear off before we were out the atmosphere!"

"To be fair, that was only after Mace described Sven's sister as… Now let me think, what was that word he used… Ah yes, 'Banging', I believe it was." Cray explained to the youngsters in a stage whisper. They shook their heads and tutted in mock disapproval, loving their inclusion in the officers' banter.

Kane was about to reply with a suitably scathing retort when Cray held up a finger. "Hold on, I'm not finished yet. I also seem to remember you referring to his mother as 'a right hotty'…"

"Well, she was." Kane protested.

"…And saying his father was an 'old crock'. In fact, I reckon the only member of his family you refrained from insulting was his pet chinchilla." Cray finished triumphantly.

"Fair point, I did forget about the rodent." Kane conceded sarcastically, amidst more giggles from the younger contingent. "But the bidet prank? Please. _So_ last year."

"That's rich coming from the sole perpetrator of the 'starfish' prank – I did tell you not to use _boiling_ water." Cray mocked.

"Always have to be right, don't you Chester." Replied Kane, leaning back in his seat and casting his eyes to the ceiling.

Cray had known the Squadron Leader long enough to detect a slight hint of irritation in his reply – a reference to their earlier conversation, perhaps.

"Touché my friend, touché." The Captain addressed his friend lightly, before turning to the Flight Sergeants. "Listen, why don't you boys go find some more drinks – looks to me like five-three Squadron have more than their fair share." He pointed to where Squadron Leader Dill Taggart was sitting with his flight crew.

This fact was not lost on the youngsters and they set off bent double, apparently hatching a cunning plan to repossess the soft drinks with the clever use of distractions, diversions and Kwesi's jacket.

Cray pulled his chair up in front of Kane and sat on it backwards, facing his friend. "Come on then, spit it out."

Kane looked at him blankly. "Spit what out?"

Cray rolled his eyes. "Ever since that engagement you haven't been yourself. Hell, ever since you found out about this new Commander you've been acting weird. So what's biting ya? Other than Sven of course..."

Kane smiled slightly and stared at Cray for a moment – it seemed strange to think they had first met at six years old, an unthinkably long distance away back on Earth. They had spent most of their lives together, one way and another. Both were only children, but they were nothing less than brothers to each other – albeit, brothers in arms.

"Look Cray… We just took hundreds, maybe even thousands of lives. It doesn't matter that they're Formics, they're still alive and… Well, living. And I killed them. Me, out here, from the comfort of a VR helmet. And that's not even the worst part; here we are, partying, drinking, playing music and celebrating when all we've done is start yet another war. And this time… This time it's supposed to be the end. For one of us, anyway." Kane paused and looked over his shoulder, subconsciously checking nobody else had heard.

Cray sighed heavily. "It's like we always say Mace – it's a game, just a game."

"Except it isn't a game anymore." Kane persisted. "You try telling that to the families of those buggers we just killed. Hell, you try telling that to the Commander."

"Mace, I was there too – it wasn't so bad…" Cray started but Kane cut him off.

"You didn't pull the trigger. You didn't make them crash and burn. Real ships, real people, not sims."

"Formics, Mace, not people! Aliens that want to see us all destroyed!" Cray corrected him. "And you gotta stop thinking like this – what good is it gonna do? Command will find out, you'll get yourself relieved of duty, iced and sent back to Earth on a charge, and then what'll happen to two-seven? The boys need you Mace… Hell, I need you. You and me, the best of the best. The way it's always been, right?"

Before Kane could reply, the conquering heroes – aka Kwesi, Beta, Joey and Kath – returned with their cargo of pilfered drinks. Before turning to congratulate them on their haul, Cray raised his eyebrows at Kane, who nodded slightly in return; the message was clear. The Squadron Leader had to pull himself together and get on with the task at hand. Time enough for a conscience later; they had to finish what they had started. The third and final Formic war had begun, and nothing anybody could say was going to change that.


End file.
